


American Values Remix

by phoenixflight



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Historic Homophobia, M/M, Pride, Remix, Socialist Steve, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, stevie is a rabble rouser in every time and place
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2019-05-08 05:59:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14687943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixflight/pseuds/phoenixflight
Summary: Steve accidentally joins the NYC Pride march, makes some new friends, and thinks about old ones.





	American Values Remix

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [American Values](https://archiveofourown.org/works/725665) by [phoenixflight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixflight/pseuds/phoenixflight). 



> Six years on from writing American Values, I have a someone different opinion of what Steve's life was like in the 1930s, and hence what values he would bring forward to a Pride event today.  
> This is set after Avengers 1, pre-Winter Soldier, while Steve is a lonely and depressed boy living in Stark Tower and wondering what the hell he's doing with his life.  
> And yes, the NYC parade route does go within a block of a Whole Foods.

Steve had just meant to go to the grocery store. They needed eggs. JARVIS did a good job of keeping food stocked, but even his excellent algorithms hadn’t been able to predict Clint and Bruce’s Great Omelet Meltdown. It had reminded Steve a little, painfully, of an incident Bucky had caused once in the kitchen of their tiny apartment before the war. But everything reminded him of Bucky, of home.

“Captain Rogers, fresh eggs can be delivered within three quarters of an hour,” JARVIS reminded him, but Steve waved it off.

“Nah, it’ll give me something to do.” There was only so much time he could spend in Stark Tower between missions before drawing and exercising wouldn’t take the edge off the panicky, asthmatic feeling of being trapped and alone.

Living above Times Square didn’t make the most convenient grocery shopping, but there was a place called Whole Foods about ten blocks away. (“As opposed to... Half Foods?” Steve had asked. Tony had just clapped him on the shoulder. “It’s full of moms and hipsters, it’ll be right up your alley.”) It was a little fake-feeling, and he had to just ignore the prices, but he liked the variety of modern options at the grocery store. He particularly liked reading ingredient labels. Federal food regulations – how had they lived without them?

But that wasn’t the point. Shopping was, if anything, a pleasant change of pace. And how depressing was that, running errands was what Steve did for a nice break? The point was the... parade of some kind? Curious about the crowds and cheering a block from the Whole Foods, Steve wandered over. Some streets had been cordoned off and the place was just swarming with people, and there were overwhelming colors everywhere and... a surprising amount of nudity?

There were floats with streamers and glitter, people in tights and make-up and feathers and lots and lots of skin. A woman with her hair dyed like a macaw smiled at him as he carefully kept his eyes above shoulder level. The costumes reminded Steve of the war bond tour, except it was mostly men who were dressed like the chorus girls. He maybe stared a little more than was polite because he honestly couldn’t believe what he was seeing on 5th Avenue in broad daylight, and also he was 90, not _dead_.

And the definition between the audience and the paraders wasn’t as clear as he was used to. There were people running back and forth, blowing kisses to the audience, handing out bits of paper, buttons, stickers, foil squares that looked suspiciously familiar. So when Steve ended up getting shunted out into the street, he didn’t really notice that he was separated from the rest of the crowd, too distracted by the chaos.

“You look lost, handsome,” said a voice by his shoulder. Steve looked down at a small man wearing a pair of briefs and some sort of glittery body paint. He snapped his eyes back to the man’s face. The man grinned. “You like?”

Steve felt himself flush, a habitual spike of adrenaline. Getting caught looking felt dangerous, even though it was 2014 and this man was clearly looking back. “Sorry, I – I didn’t mean to interrupt your parade.”

“Not at all! You should march with us, it was meant to be.” The man grabbed his arm and Steve was startled enough that he allowed himself to be dragged into the flow of people. “I’m Zizi,” he continued. “What’s your name, handsome?”

“Uh. Steve.”

“Steve. Steve... Not...” Zizi’s eyes widened. “You are! You so are, oh my god! Come on, I have to tell Ross.” Again, Zizi grabbed his hand, breaking into a run. “He’s marching with the AIDS Foundation, they’re not far ahead,” he threw back over his shoulder. The parade moved slowly and it was easy to overtake the marchers, Steve following Zizi as he darted in between people carrying signs and balloons, brightly painted people on bikes, and a float with men and women in... leather... things. Very little leather things. He thought, melancholy and a little heated, that Bucky might have liked the leather things.

“Ross!” A man wearing a pink cowboy hat and matching swim-trunks looked up in time to catch Zizi as he flung himself at him. Around him, a dozen other people in pink were waving and throwing candy to the crowd. “Ross, you will never _believe_ who I just met.”

“Who?” But the man was already looking up over his shoulder, eyes widening as he caught sight of Steve.

Zizi beamed. “Ross, this is Steve Rogers. Steve, this is my boyfriend Ross.”

Steve chest squeezed a little at _boyfriend_. He’d read the history, been told (smugly, apologetically, hesitantly, provokingly, everyone was so certain they could get a rise out of him, no one _knew_ ) about modern attitudes, but to hear so casually... it made his lungs feel tight. “Pleased to meet you.”

The man, Ross, disentangled himself from Zizi, still wide eyed. “Captain Rogers, sir. Thank you. You too sir. I. Wow.” He fumbled his hat off blushing and held out a hand. “This really isn’t how I pictured meeting Captain America.”

“Ross’s a big fan,” Zizi grinned, hanging off his boyfriend’s shoulder.

“Thanks,” Steve said, shaking his hand, because at least here he was on familiar ground. “It means a lot.”

“No, thank you, I mean. Man.” Ross shook his head. “So what made you decide to march in the parade?”

“Oh, uh.” Steve rubbed the nape of his neck. “I was just passing by. I’m actually – what parade is this?”

“The pride parade,” Zizi chirped.

“Pride.” Steve looked around. It rang a bell, but he had read so much in the last few months, it hadn’t all stuck. “Proud of what?”

Ross made a face. “Oh boy. Uh. It’s the gay pride parade.”

Steve blinked. “Gay pride?” That’s right, he had read that there were parades, but he’d imagined... like the labor marches he and Bucky’d gone to during the Depression. Defiant, tough events, always with one eye out for the cops, everyone ready to run or fight if you had to. Not this... party.

Ross misread his expression, and shifted uncomfortably. “I know this might be weird for you. Not used to this I mean.”

“Aw, Steve’s fine, aren’t you?” Zizi leaned forward and whispered loudly over the noise of the crowd, “He’ll be crushed if his childhood idol turns out to be a conservative homophobe.”

“Homoph...? Oh. No, no. It’s.” He laughed a little at how wrong that was, and covered his mouth, feeling absurdly fragile like the laughter wanted to turn to tears. “It’s just a little overwhelming.”

Ross looked relieved, and Zizi beamed at him. “See?”

“All these people,” Steve gestured around. “are queer?” There must be a couple thousand at least that he could see, and it looked like the parade stretched for blocks. Either human sexuality had changed since the forties or there’d been a lot of queer people he'd missed the first time round.

“And proud of it!” Zizi exclaimed. “That’s the important part.”

“Not all of them. Lots of them are just allies. Supporters.”

Supporters. Huh. Sounded nice. “Where are the police?”

“It’s not illegal anymore, you know,” Zizi exclaimed.

“I know that, but...” he struggled to articulate the feeling of marginal legality – labor unions and communist meetings, not outright banned but heavily scrutinized. “Aren’t people still... I mean you can...” He gestured to some folks going by in colorful drag. “just... out on the street? Just normal? And no one hassles you?”

“Basically,” Zizi said, but Ross shook his head.

“The reason we’re out on the street like this is because we still get hassled. New York’s okay, some places are better than others. It’s legal now in the US, hell, marriage will be before long I bet, but there are still places where you could get beaten up, even killed for being who you are.” He put an arm around Zizi’s shoulders, squeezing him. “We’re the lucky ones.”

 _Marriage_ , Steve thought, _God, we used to joke about that._ Zizi petted his boyfriend’s hair. “Ross thinks he should be able to save everyone. I blame you.”

“Me?” Steve blinked.

“Hmmm. Too much Captain America as a kid. He wears himself out giving and giving and there’s only so much for one person to give. We can’t all be heroes like you.”

Steve squared his shoulders. “Yes you can. Maybe not like me, but heroes somehow. I’m,” His voice wanted to shake, but he had years of practice controlling his tone, “I’m glad you’re out here, marching. You should be proud.”

“Oh, we are.” Zizi linked an arm through his. “So are you going to march with us? Let us show off that the queer freaks got Captain fucking America to march with them?”

-

“Steve’s on TV,” said Bruce.

“So?” Tony didn’t look up from the prototype particle synthesizer he was dismantling. “He went out for groceries right?” It took a moment for his brain to clear away visions of blue prints. “Shouldn’t he be back by now?”

“Like I said, on TV.”

Tony straightened up. “Is he ok? We’d have had an alert if there was an attack.”

“...I think you’d better see for yourself.”

-

“So I guess I slept through the bit where first amendment beat public decency law? I mean I’m not _complaining_ , I just never thought being queer meant being naked in public.”

“Nudity is part of the gay agenda,” said Zizi, putting his hands on his skinny hips. That sounded a little far fetched, because the last time Steve checked, the gay agenda was _don’t get beat up by the cops,_ but people kept telling him times had changed.

Ross shrugged. “It’s a rejection of the establishment and an expression of freedom of identity. I guess gay culture is also pretty tied up in performative sexuality.”

Remembering the feeling of going out with Bucky to certain bars where they could be together, Steve thought he could understand that. To be able to touch each other, dance together, hold hands, kiss in the corner - it was heady, terrifying, triumphant, that feeling of being _seen_ and known by others who were like you.

Bucky would like this, he thought. The colors like a carnival, the celebration, the _honesty._ Not to mention the nudity. There was familiar ache under Steve’s ribs. “The gay agenda,” he reflected out loud. “I like that. Should I take my shirt off?”

“What kind of question is that?” asked Zizi. “Yes, please!”

“Um, that would be, yes,” said Ross, looking a little dazed. “Please.”

-

“Should we rescue him?”

“Are you kidding? JARVIS I hope you’re recording this footage.”

-

“You think the glitter is a bit much?” Steve said doubtfully.

“Absolutely not,” Zizi said firmly, not looking up from where he was smearing blue and red body paint across Steve’s stomach. “You want to move with the times, right?” He stood back to admire his work, walking backward to keep up with the parade. “Do you think he needs some more? Yeah, definitely,” he nodded to himself, putting his fingers back on Steve’s chest, clammy with paint.

Ross smacked Zizi’s ass, making both him and Steve jump. “You aren’t fooling anyone, Zi. You just want to get your hands back on his abs.”

“They are very touchable, aren’t they?” Zizi sighed happily. “You know you’re just jealous.”

Ross rolled his eyes, but there was color high on his cheeks.

Once Zizi had finished painting garish stars and stripes on his abdomen (which took a lot longer than Steve thought it should have. It was like handshakes that went on too long, except more...shirtless) he attracted a lot more attention.

It used to be you shook hands with strangers. Nowadays everyone wanted a hug. Which made the whole shirtless thing... acute. People would dart forward out of the crowd. “You’re Captain America, right? Ohmigod, can I have a hug?”

The first time it happened, he’d protested. “I don’t want to get paint on you.”

They cut him off with a wave of their hand. “Don’t even. So worth it!”

Sighing, Steve watched the most recent person (he’d been reading about pronouns, and anyway, everyone was wearing skirts and glitter and copious makeup) run back to their friends giggling gleefully. He turned around to see Zizi and Ross grinning at him.

He shrugged, apologetically. “It’s not usually this bad.”

“You mean usually when you walk down the street shirtless, you _don’t_ get molested?” Zizi asked, arching an eyebrow. “There’s something very wrong with the world.”

Steve shook his head, grinning a little. “I guess so.” It was so strange, so visible. Deep down, he was aware that his skin was crawling at the eyes on him, seeing him like this after so long hiding. Surely they knew, surely they would guess. But everyone was smiling, cheering, _screaming_ when they saw him, like it was a good thing.

Someone with a loudspeaker on a podium is booming names as the marchers pass. “Those are the judges,” Ross said, pointing to the table beside him. “Wells Fargo won last year for best float, but it’s all funding.”

“Aren’t they a bank?” Steve asked, brow furrowed.

“Yeah, there’s all sorts of people who march in the parade. Queer organizations and but lots of allies too. The mayor marches, you know.”

“Really? The mayor? That’s...” Steve looked at the man on the podium. “that’s good. Really good. I mean, you’ve come a long way.”

Ross nodded. “Yeah. It reminds me how lucky I am.”

“Queens AIDS Research and Support Foundation,” the podium man announced.

Ross waved at the crowd, tipping his hat. “That’s us, me and my coworkers. Zizi was marching with his experimental performing arts group before he found you.”

“Experimental performing arts? Sounds dangerous.”

“Definitely,” Ross laughed. “You know, I didn’t expect Captain America to have a sense of humor.”

“America’s not a barrel of laughs, huh?”

“See, that’s what I mean.”

Before Ross could continue, someone shouted, “Captain America!”

He veered off course automatically in response, and didn’t register who called his name until camera flashes started going off in his face. Too late, Steve saw the sign hanging on the barrier that said _Press_ – _display badges please._

-

Tony crumpled up the empty bag of popcorn. “ _Now_ we rescue him.”

-

“What are you doing here Captain?” “How do you like Pride?” “Is this a statement?” “Is that glitter?” “Are the other Avengers here?” “Do you support gay rights?”

“Of course I do, I...” Steve began, before he was drowned out again by the barrage of questions.

“Where do you stand on marriage equality?” “What was your reaction to DADT?” “How do you feel about gays in the military?”

“There have always been queer people in the military,” Steve said, latching on to something he was sure of. Ha. Very sure.

“Are you insinuating something?” “Is there something you want to tell us Captain?”

Steve took a breath, unsure what he was about to say even as he opened his mouth, and then Zizi shouldered his way forward, putting his skinny, glittery bare body between Steve and the bulk of reporters. “He’s Captain America, okay?” he snarled. “That’s all there is to it. Being fucking fabulous is an American value.” Flashbulbs popped.

“The kid’s right,” drawled a voice from behind them. Steve turned to see Tony, sleeves rolled up and suit jacket slung over one shoulder. “A value I aspire to but rarely achieve. Nice hat,” he nodded to Ross. “Alright everyone, feeding frenzy’s over. The Avenger’s Initiative supports and protects every American regardless of class, color, creed, gender or sexuality. Unless your creed involves aliens invading New York or anything like that.” There was laughter from the crowd. “Some people huh? Post a picture of yourself at Pride to Stark Industries’ Facebook page by midnight tonight and receive a thirty percent discount on the latest upgrade to the Starkphone operating system.” He slapped Steve on the shoulder, and slipped a business card out of his pocket, handing it to Zizi. “If you ever need a job, contact my PR department. Let’s go Cap. Happy is parked illegally on Madison Avenue, and I’ve already enraged NYPD plenty this month.”

Steve waved as Tony dragged him away through the crowd. “It was nice meeting you!” he called to Zizi and Ross.

“Come back next year!” Ross had his arms around Zizi’s waist.

“I will!” Steve promised. “I’ll wear the uniform.”

He thought he heard Zizi shout, “Don’t bother,” and then they were swallowed by the colorful crowd.

Tony framed a photograph of Steve shirtless, covered in glitter, above the coffee maker in his workshop. He said that when the caffeine wasn't enough to save his will to live, the picture helped. Steve was mostly sure he’s joking.

He didn’t actually make it to the parade the next year, thanks to someone’s escaped lab experiment, which was roaming the sewers breathing fire. But when the combusting rodents were massacred, with minimal destruction of property (advantage of fighting below ground) and cleanup began, Steve took his shirt off. Sure, it was covered in rodent guts and dried sewer gunk, but it was still solidarity. Zizi would totally have appreciated the gesture.

The year after that, he has Bucky back, and he feels like he can breathe again for the first time since watching him fall. He doesn’t wear his uniform, he goes in sunglasses and a ball cap, Bucky in ubiquitous long sleeves even though it’s a sweltering day. The two of them stand anonymously in the press of the crowd, listening to the cheering, arms around each other. To be seen is one type of triumph. To be oneself and still be unnoticed is another. Steve holds Bucky tight and his chest aches with gratitude.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr @[stillwaterseas](http://stillwaterseas.tumblr.com/)  
> Comments are love!


End file.
